


When The North Winds Call

by wethecommon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wethecommon/pseuds/wethecommon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the North winning the war waged again the South, the South has no choice but to recede and begin negotiations. The young wolf wanted nothing more than to have his sweet sister, Sansa, back. However, Lord Tywin would not let her go without a price. If he would not have Sansa marry Joffrey, then he would find another marriage that would keep the North and the South intertwined. He would have a marriage that would make a queen out of the little princess Myrcella</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The North was winning, Myrcella was sure sure of it. No one had even breathed a word of it to her, but there was a change in King's Landing, she could feel it. The air was tense and the castle was full of whispers. She had hardly seen any of her family in the past week, save Tommen of course. Not that she had grown accustomed to her family's company, but even her Uncle Tyrion or Uncle Jaime would pay her a visit from time to time. They must be locked away with the small council, plotting or conceding, Myrcella thought. She knew she should fear it, fear the outcome of the war, but she couldn't bring herself to. She loved how the halls of the Red Keep were near empty, allowing Tommen and Myrcella to run free, chasing after cats and playing a multitude of games. Her mother would only scold them if she knew. For, she never truly took notice of them unless they posed a threat to the image of the family. But with the Queen indisposed, Myrcella felt free to enjoy herself without regret. Her and Tommen even managed to drag Sansa along at times.

"Come, Sansa, please you must come see the kittens," Tommen had begged.

"Yes, you must help us name them. We can not do it all on our own," Myrcella implored.

Myrcella had been the one to think to invite Sansa when the kittens were first born. She had noticed Sansa's growing nerves, how she always seemed lost in thought. Sansa had tried to remain composed, but her constant tremors betrayed her. She must be thinking of what will happen to her now, whether she'll still have to marry Joffrey or be returned home. And as much as Myrcella would love to have Sansa as her sister, the thought of Sansa having to spend the rest of her days warming Joffrey's bed sickened Myrcella. No one deserves that fate, Myrcella thought, especially not kind and beautiful Sansa.

With enough coaxing, Sansa soon came to follow them through the many and vast halls of the castle before they finally reached the stables. There, four kittens played and slept, barely larger than a hand. The kittens came bounding up to them as soon as they arrived, excited by prospect of new playmates. Tommen fell into a fit of giggles as one of them, the orange and white one, began crawling up his leg. Myrcella found herself bending down to welcome the kittens, stroking the soft fur as Sansa stood timidly, watching the kittens with wide eyes. Gently gathering a grey and black spotted one in her hands, Myrcella lifted the kitten up to Sansa.

"Don't be afraid to hold one, Sansa," She instructed Sansa in a soft voice, "They're very friendly."

Sansa slowly reached for the kitten and clutched it to her chest. A soft giggle escaped her lips as the kitten began to lick Sansa's hand. In return, she scratched his little head and smiled as he began to purr. All the while, Tommen sat roaring with laughter as another kitten joined in crawling up his back and kneading into his neck. His love for cats was incomparable and Myrcella could not help giggling along with her brother, basking in his unkempt happiness.

"Careful, Tommen," She warned, "Ser Pounce might grow jealous." Myrcella had favored a kitten that was a fluffy white who had snuggled into her grasp and fell into pleasant slumber. She barely moved, afraid she might wake the sweet one. Tommen only giggled at her sister's statement, looking over to her with eyes alight with joy.

"Ser Pounce would love to have new friends," He corrected her, but his eyes soon grew somber, "Oh, but mother would never let us keep them, would she? I worry what will become of them if we aren't there to care for them."

"We'll just have to sneak them," Myrcella suggested, eyes glinting with mischief, "If we're careful mother will never notice." Tommen grin returned at her words and Myrcella was glad. For, she hated seeing her younger brother upset. She would give him the sun and the moon if it meant he would only smile for the rest of his days.

"Have you thought up a name for yours, Sansa?" Myrcella asked, turning to the red-haired beauty beside her.

Sansa looked thoughtfully down at her kitten who was currently nibbling on her hand before meeting Myrcella's eyes. "Well, I think Wolf is a suitable name," Sansa admitted.

Myrcella gave her a bright smile. "What a wonderful name," She praised Sansa before leaning down to the kitten, "Do you feel like a wolf, little kitty?" She bared her teeth, letting out a growl. The kitten only look at her in curiosity before replying with a small mew. All three fell into a fit of giggles at the soft sound. "Hmm, what a ferocious wolf he'll be," Myrcella mused, looking at Sansa now.

Sansa let a small smile grace her features before her gaze flicked to Myrcella's still slumbering kitten. "And what are you to name yours?"

"I'm not sure, I was thinking of Snow because of her fur. I've only ever seen snowfall when we were leaving Winterfell," Myrcella replied.

"I remember the snow!" Tommen exclaimed, "We kept trying to catch snowflakes on our tongues remember, Myrcella?"

And Myrcella giggled at the memory. They had even tried to make snowballs as they had seen Arya do, throwing them at Uncle Jaime as he passed by. He had only laughed as the snow melted in his hair, but mother was furious. She yelled at them until Myrcella's faced burned and Tommen's eyes shed tears. "They were only playing," Uncle Jaime had tried to appease her, but mother didn't care. She would not have them insulting Joffrey's perfect image as the future king. Myrcella prayed Tommen did not remember that part.

"Yes I do," She spoke before looking to Sansa, "Does it snow often at Winterfell?"

Sansa nodded, eyes clouded with memories from afar. "Even in the summer," She told them, "In the Winter, the snow can reach 10 feet." Tommen awed in amazement, but before he could make a comment, a voice interrupted them.

"Ah, I knew I would find you down here," The light voice of Uncle Tyrion sounded behind them.

Tommen turned to his Uncle, two kittens clutched in his hands. "Come, Uncle, come meet the kittens," He beckoned, "Myrcella has named hers Snow and Sansa has named hers Wolf. Although, I haven't thought of names for mine yet, but I will keep thinking."

Tyrion smiled at his little nephew. "Another time, perhaps," He promised before turning to the two ladies. Myrcella offered her uncle a soft smile, but Sansa's easy demeanor had suddenly vanished. She could not act the same around him as she does with Tommen and Myrcella. For they are around her age, children who do not share the same cruelty as their elder brother or mother. They are the closest things she has to friends in King's Landing and Lord Tyrion could not be farther from one. Yes, he had shown her kindness, but she could not trust him. He was a Lannister, no doubt looking towards only the survival of his house. And so Sansa must be guarded around him, careful of her words. "At the moment, I am here to collect Princess Myrcella and Lady Sansa. It seems their presence required," He explained his true purpose for seeking them out.

"Oh, alright," Tommen granted, sad to be losing their company.

Sansa felt her blood go cold. This must be about the war, she thought, Oh am I finally to go home? But she cursed herself for even thinking it. It was dangerous to hope, she quickly reminded herself. Meanwhile, Myrcella felt only utter confusion. Why would Uncle Tyrion need to speak to her? Surely, she was of little importance in the grand scheme of it all. But nevertheless, she followed beside Sansa as Tyrion led them out of the stables and up the winding staircase as they passed by corridor and corridor.

"What is going on, Uncle," Myrcella found herself asking.

"Do not worry, sweetling," He told her. She expected him to explain further, but that is all he offered and so she only sighed in response. Nobody ever told her anything. Either out of protection or indifference, she was left ignorant in nearly every matter.

Finally, he stopped them in front of a large door. "Inside the small council awaits," Is the only warning he provided them before swinging open the door. There they all sat, faces hard and unnerving. Tywin stared at the two girls with little emotion, as always, while Cersei didn't dare look upon either of them, her face only showing pure hatred as she stared off in the distance. Beside her sat Joffrey, arms crossed and face in a red-like fury. He looked like a reprimanded child, but then again, when didn't he. Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle showed indifference and it was only Uncle Jaime who gave Myrcella a smile. She could detect the slightest glint of sadness in his eyes, nonetheless. By gods, what has happened to induce such expressions.

"Please sit," It was Tywin who spoke up first, motioning the girls to sit in the two seats at the end. Myrcella spared a glance at Sansa. Her face was hardened, shielding her emotions. Myrcella let her had drift until their pinkies glided against each other, she entwined them for only half a second before taking a seat as her grandfather requested. It was the only support she could offer Sansa for whatever was to transpire. Tyrion too, followed instep and took the empty seat to Myrcella's right.

"The war against the North has been put to rest. They have earned their independence and as well have the Riverlands," Tywin informed them, "In order to reach a conclusion, negotiations had to be made. Lady Sansa," His gaze pierced Sansa suddenly, "You are to be returned to the North, you will not wed King Joffrey and will not be Queen." Whatever emotions passed through Sansa in that moment, she kept hidden behind a perfect mask, only giving Lord Tywin a small nod in understanding. "Princess Myrcella," Tywin spoke again, now directing his gaze to his granddaughter, "In order to ensure future goodwill between the North and the South, you shall be wedded to King Robb Stark and become Queen in the North." Myrcella had tried to keep herself composed as Sansa had, but she could not keep the little gasp from escaping her lips especially after her mother had slammed her fist on the table. "Enough," Hissed Tywin, glaring at his daughter, "It is done."

Myrcella couldn't quite believe it. She was to be married to Robb Stark? Become Queen in the North? She felt as though she couldn't catch her breath. In her visit to Winterfell, she had remembered finding the young wolf attractive. During the feast, her eyes constantly flittered over to him, smiling at him tentatively and blushing when he would smile back. But long years had passed since and she doubted he was the same. For, she knew she was no longer the same blushing little girl she was once was. When Myrcella looked up, she found Tywin staring at her, waiting for some sort of reply, but all she could muster was a numb nod.

So this was to be her fate? In all her days, Myrcella had never thought of the future much, had never truly spared marriage much of a thought. She knew it may have been a possibility, but not now. Why hadn't she prepared herself? Shouldn't she have known she was just another pawn of Tywin's to play, not even being of his blood could spare her from that. Should I be afraid, she found herself asking. But as her eyes swept over the table, at the painted stares directed towards her, she found herself in relief. She was to be far away, far away from Joffrey's barbarities, far away from mother's coldness, and far away from all the manipulation and the lies. Her eyes found Sansa's, she was to be with sweet Sansa. Everything else, she can deal with when the time comes-If her husband hated her, if the North resented her-but for now she could breathe in a little easier. Is this what is to be free? Had she really been caged all her life, she hadn't even known any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the comment from EmperorKaizer, I decided to go back and add in the Riverlands status (it is only a minor change)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, but I thought it was important to show the relationship between Joffrey and Myrcella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of abuse in this chapter

It is near time to go. Everything has been packed, the horses have been readied, and yet, Myrcella has still not said her goodbyes. There will be little of her family attending the wedding. Only Uncle Tyrion will be making the long trek North with her and Sansa. It is better this way, Myrcella tried to tell herself, but she wasn't very convincing. She wanted Tommen to come, for them to explore the Northern front together. In her daydreams, they would be running about in the snow-covered ground, making little snowballs without mother around to scorn them. But that was foolish to dream. I am to be a wife, she reminded herself, no more play with Tommen. It was only now, that the day had arrived that she truly felt a sense of sadness fill her. All those days spent wishing she could only go and never look back, for her to falter when the time had come. A voice was whispering inside her head, telling her of all that will await. Everyone will despise you in the North, Sansa will turn on you, Tommen will not be safe from Joffrey's cruelty without you, it called to her. She had to shake her head, clenching her eyes shut tight as she willed the voice away.

She didn't take long to locate her youngest brother. He was away in the gardens, chasing after a stray cat before her spotted her approach. Immediately, he ran to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her body. Myrcella hugged him in return with as much fierceness as she could muster. She needed to say goodbye in private, somewhere safe from her mother's glare. Here, she was free to show her true emotions and Tommen was free to do the same.

"Please do not leave me sister," He begged, his voice tearing a hole in Myrcella's heart.

"I am not leaving you, not really," She told him.

"Yes you are!" Little Tommen cried, "I will have no one to play with! No one likes me like you!"

Myrcella felt as though someone had taken a knife to chest. All she could do was pull him to the nearby bench and hold him as he wept, running her hands through his hair as comfort. "Do not think that way, sweet brother," She whispered, trying to calm him, "You are kind and wonderful and all a prince should be. Uncle Jaime would be more than happy to play with you, if you ask, and so would Uncle Tyrion. You must only wait till he returns, of course. And I will write to you everyday, telling you all of Winterfell and the snow. Do not fret, we will see each other again, I swear it." Eventually, Tommen began to quiet down at his sister's words. It is times like these she felt more of a mother to him than a sister.

"I wish to go with you," He admitted, bleary eyes staring up at his sister.

Myrcella took a deep breath in, trying to keep her own tears from falling. "I wish you to go with me too but you must stay here. For what would Ser Pounce do without you? And now Snow and Wolf will also need your most expert care with Sansa and I leaving," She softly reminded him.

"You are right," He sighed, staring off at the gardens.

Myrcella looked down at her little brother, truly looked at him. He was slightly plump with soft blonde hair and beautiful green eyes, mirroring her own. She found herself desperately wishing he had been the first born. He would rule with such kindness and grace, there would to have been no need for a war in the first place. Surely, he would have not sent Lord Stark to that horrible death. No, Tommen would have been good and kind, all the things a king should be. All the things Joffrey is not.

Placing a gentle kiss to his head, she stood up from the bench, reaching her hand out for Tommen to take. "Come, brother, I wish to see the kittens one last time before we go," She beckoned. He eagerly followed in suit, but as they began their journey to the stables, they were stopped by another blonde with piercing green eyes.

"And where are you going?" Joffrey sneered, staring at his younger siblings with distaste.

Myrcella subtly kept Tommen behind her as she gave her older brother a faux smile. "I was only saying my goodbyes to Tommen, but if you'll excuse us, I believe I'm needed. I am to depart for Winterfell soon." She didn't dare mention the kittens in fear he would only threaten their lives, upsetting Tommen.

"And you haven't yet said goodbye to me, dear sister," Joffrey pointed out, amusement ignited in his voice.

"Goodbye, dear brother," Myrcella spoke softly, forcing herself from revolting at the idea of him being a 'dear' brother. But Joffrey would not let her go that easy. He grabbed her tight, wrapping himself around her body. It could be considered a hug from anyone else but him. This 'hug' was too tight, too forceful. Myrcella could only gasp for air.

"Goodbye, little sister, soon you will be a little bitch for the Starks. Nothing more but a cunt to fuck. They say your husband can turn into a wolf, wonder if he'll use that trick in bed. He'll take you from behind, huh, fuck you like the bitch that you are," He taunted, mocking into her ear. Myrcella only kept her eyes trained to the floor, not betraying her disgust at his words. How dare he? How dare he speak to her like that? He is a king, kings can do as they please, the little voice spoke into her head, soon you'll be marrying one. No, she yelled at the voice, I am to be free.

"Don't speak to her like that," Tommen's little voice piped up. No! Myrcella wished she could scream at him. He will punish you for that! Joffrey let Myrcella go, now turning to Tommen as his next victim.

"What did you say?" He asked, voice incredulous. Myrcella quickly ran to Tommen, safely shoving his body behind hers, acting as a barrier.

"Nothing," She hastily said, "It was nothing."

"Step out of the way, dear sister," Joffrey commanded, his tone dark. But she did not oblige. Her eyes drifted up, hard gaze matching his. It was her duty, her duty as an older sibling to protect her younger one from whatever dangers that may pose. Joffrey had never hurt Tommen with Myrcella always jumping in to stop him. She was the one who bore the many bruises and scars. It seemed no one was safe from Joffrey's hatred and that was the scariest truth of them all. So she stood firm, not heeding her king's order.

It came quickly, the slap that had thrown Myrcella off balance and tumbling to the floor. She didn't cry out, didn't evenmake a sound, only lifted her hand to gingerly touch her aching cheek. It was Tommen who cried out, instantly dropping to his sister's side. "Are you alright, 'Cella?" He asked, voice high-pitched with worry.

"I am fine," She promised.

Joffrey only looked at them with little interest before turning to his guards. "Come," He ordered, "Let us leave my pathetic sister to cry about one little blow." He must have been recalling the first time he had hurt his sister. When a push down the marble steps sent her crying to her mother. But even then, Cersei did nothing. Only remained blind to her first born's sickness. However, Myrcella did not cry today. Instead, she picked herself up, taking her younger brother's hand in hers once more and continued on her way to the stables.

* * *

 

Myrcella only prayed this would be the last time she would have to look upon her oldest brother. Gods be good, she thought, but the gods were rarely ever good. He stared at her, eyes burning with hate. But it didn't matter. In only minutes, she would soon be mounting her horse and riding far away from him. Freedom, she sighed, ignoring the little voice chanting 'not quite'. She moved passed Joffrey, turning to her mother. It shocked her that her mother had even come to say goodbye. Cersei had been avoiding her only daughter ever since the betrothal, but in this moment she pulled her daughter tight against her. Not as tight as an embrace from Joffrey, but tight enough to make breathing an effort.

"They may soon make you their Stark whore, but you will always be a lioness," She hissed into Myrcella's ear. Further making her point by piercing her claws into the back of Myrcella's neck. Myrcella shivered, but nodded at her mother to appease her.

Uncle Jamie was next, he gave her a soft smile before pulling her in for a hug. "You will fare well in Winterfell, my sweet, I have no doubt" He told her, giving her a little squeeze. He was warm and smelled of the grapes. Myrcella tried to commit this to memory, this little moment with her Uncle. She did not know when next she would be able to see him. "Thank you, Uncle," She whispered into the crook of his neck, "I shall miss you." When she pulled away, she found his eyes sad, but he only urged her on.

Tommen gave her another hug, this one more crushing than the last, but she held him just as tight. "Do no forget to write to me," He reminded her. She lightly squeezed him before replying. "I will never, as long as you remember to write back." He clutched her all the more tighter. "I will always," He swore before pulling away. Tommen did not cry this time, only forced a smile upon his lips as Myrcella brushed a hand through his hair. He is strong, stronger than people give him credit for.

When she mounted her horse, her eyes found Sansa's whose were gleaming with joy. It was the idea of going home that excited her, no doubt. Perhaps one day Myrcella could consider it her home. Perhaps she would find solace in the stone walls and high snows. Maybe even in the very man she was betrothed to. Myrcella stopped herself from falling down that path. Those are silly expectations to have, the little voice whispered, but this time Myrcella found herself heeding its words. From now own, she must remained guarded. For, being a Lannister in the North is not as welcomed as it is in the South.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did change the characters' ages a little. Myrcella is 14 and Robb is 20 (This question was asked but I wanted to make sure everyone who was reading this knew). Also, I'm including Theon. Instead of going along with his father's plot to take Winterfell, he warns Robb of it and Robb sends men to stop it.

The journey was long and arduous. The more they traveled North, the colder the air became. At times, Myrcella could have sworn she had lost feeling in the tips of her fingers, only for it to be regained once placed in front of the rising flames of a hearth. She had tried to keep faith, tried to fight off her growing worries. But as they drew closer and closer to the walls of Winterfell, Myrcella could not escape the strangling clutches of anxiety. It was all happening too quickly. She yearned desperately for Tommen. He could help abate her fears with his kind smiles and soft hugs. But he wasn't here. For now, she had Uncle Tyrion and he was as kind to her as his words were wise. She also had Sansa, but she would understand if Sansa found company in her family when they arrived. Myrcella needed to learn how to survive on her own. If luck abandoned her and she found only hatred and burning glares in Winterfell, then she was going to need to learn how to cope with only her thoughts as company. It was an odd thing for her. Ever since Tommen was born, she was never alone. It was time she prepared herself for the worst, but pray that her betrothed was sweet to her. She knew him to be honorable and brave, this much Sansa had told her, but how was he to feel about inviting a Lannister into his home, into his life, into his bed? Yes she was a Baratheon, but most people only saw the lion's claws. _I have to be strong_ , Myrcella told herself, _but kind all the same._

As Myrcella's anxiety grew, Sansa's deflated. With every day, she traveled farther and farther from King's Landing. Instead of pulling her cloak tight against her body, she reveled in the chill against her skin, the prickling goosebumps along her arms. It had been so long ( _too_ _long in her opinion)_  since she had last felt the cold. It was home, a home she had never appreciated in the time it was hers, but now she was to reclaim it. She was to see her mother again, and Robb, and sweet sweet Bran, and oh, little Rickon. Even Theon would be nice to see, although she hadn't thought much of him when they were children. Still, a pang resounded in her heart when she remembered Arya who was still lost out in the world. Ayra wasn't dead, Sansa could feel it, but she longed for sister despite all the fights they once had. _When she is found, I'll never fight with her ever again_ , Sansa vowed. It was going to be better. Sansa was older now, smarter. She had been naive once, but she had paid for it. Joffrey had made sure of that. She fought the bile rising in her throat when she thought of him and willed herself to think of the future. Home was just beyond the horizon. She could see the tips of it coming in to view and she only wished that she could ride ahead of the rest of them to reach the castle that held the cherished memories of her childhood. 

As the castle came in to view, Myrcella felt her stomach lurch. She wore a brave face as she let her horse carry her to the gates, fighting the strong desire to pull tight on the reigns and halt the horse's movements. She was terrified, more terrified than she had ever been. Not even when Joffrey had received a sharp-edged dagger for his name day and had held it up to her neck, taunting her, had she been more fearful than this. For Joffrey had only left a small slit on her neck, no worse a mark than any of Tommen's cats could form, and she knew he could not truly take her life. What was so very frightening was that Myrcella didn't know what to expect. With Joffrey, she knew his mind to be sickened and his actions to be cruel, but she did not know the King in the North. She knew even little of the rest of the Stark family and she was now supposed to become one. They were going to despise her, no doubt. They would bare her company and would force simple pleasantries, but they would see what everyone else saw in the little Princess: the face of her mother. She could act as sweet as she could possibly be, but that could never erase her Lannister appearance. _I am a Baratheon_ , she reminded herself, but even she could not deny she didn't look it at all. But alas, it was too late. Marcella's fate was sealed as soon as the Winterfell gates were shoved closed and the traveling party was enclosed in the walls. She looked back at the dark ominous doors, trying to remind herself she was away from Joffrey, she was away from cruel mother, and away from horrible grandfather. And with that extra strength she was able to take the hand that reached out to help her down, to swing off her horse and her feet to land in the snow covered ground. This was Winterfell, this was her future. 

The Starks were arrayed in a horizontal line as they arrived. Much like the one from Myrcella's very first visit, but it was different, oh so very different. Rickon was the first Stark Myrcella spotted. He had grown since she had last seem him, just beginning his growth spurt, but he still had his baby fat adorning his face. It would take some more time until he had grown as the rest of his brothers had. Bran was beside him, his body resting in a heavily furred wheeled-chair the was pushed by quite a large man with greying hair, standing behind Bran. Then stood Lady Catelyn, tall and beautiful as ever. It wasn't the sharp beauty Myrcella's mother possessed. No, her beauty was softer, more kind, but notable nevertheless. Myrcella forced herself to keep breathing as her eyes flittered past Lady Catelyn and landed upon the tall, broad-sholdered man that now took his father's place. He was as handsome as she remembered, even more handsome if she were being honest. His thick auburn curls splayed across his forehead as his deep blue eyes demanded to be seen. The most scariest of it all was that he was strong, no doubt accumulating this muscle from the war fought against _her_ family. She would have no means of defense against him. _But he's honorable,_ Mycella affirmed, _Sansa would not lead me astray._ She did her best to ward off the images of her mother's bruised. 

It was Sansa who ran up to greet the Starks first, forgetting all proper etiquettes as she sunk into her mother's embrace. Myrcella could not hear the words whispered between mother and daughter and was glad of it, Sansa deserved a private moment with her mother. Once she had pulled away from her mother's grasp, Sansa fled into her eldest brother's. Myrcella watched as he wrapped his arms tight around his sister, eyes shutting as he visibly relaxed. He loved his sister dearly, Myrcella noted. He was already differing from Joffrey.

Myrcella finally tore her eyes from Sansa's reunion with her family when Uncle Tyrion had approached her. "Come, my sweet," He whispered, "Come, you must greet the Northern King and his family." She nodded at him, knowing she could not put it off forever. She followed him as he approached the King. Tentatively, she remained behind him as he bowed to the King Robb, but for him only to be waved up.

"I trust the journey was not too harsh, Lord Tyrion," The King spoke, his voice strong with conviction. As a king should speak.

"Not at all, your grace," Uncle Tyrion responded, exuding his usual confidence, "I quite enjoyed nearly having my fingers thawed off, but ah, they are still intact."

The King only nodded before his eyes reached behind Tyrion and locked on his very betrothed. Like a dance, Tyrion side-stepped as Myrcella stepped forward. She did her best to keep her face kind as she curtsied and murmured a soft, "Your grace." When she once more stood as tall as her height allowed, she let her eyes drift to his. Myrcella desperately wished she was better at detecting other's emotions, the only trait she yearned to have inherited from her mother. For when she looked upon her betrothed's face, she could not find a single silver of emotion upon his features. She could only watch as his eyes racked her body, taking in her appearance. Perhaps he found her beautiful. Try as she might, Myrcella could never escape drunken mens' vulgar comments. She had her mother's beauty and was grown into a woman, her body curving in all the right places. However, before she could think much on the King's wandering eyes, they found their way back to hers and he regarded her with a curt not. 

"Princess," Is all the the King offered her. 

In an instant, Myrcella saw one small flicker of emotion on the young king's face. It hardly lasted more than a second but Myrcella, who was staring intently upon her betrothed's face, caught it. In that small moment, Myrcella felt her heart clench and hands tighten in her cloak. Upon the very man's face she was going to spend the rest of her life with, Myrcella had recognized a look of repulsion. It was enough to cause all her hopes to plummet into the very pits of her stomach. _Stupid, stupid stupid_ , the little voice shamed, _you should have known, you stupid, stupid girl_. Myrcella did her best to hide her inner turmoil, the churning of her brains and the chill filling her heart. But she could no longer convince herself that he would be accept her. For, her cause was lost before she had even truly begun. 

* * *

 Myrcella had spent a total of five days at Winterfell and so far, the only friendship she had found was in the fearsome direwolf known as Grey Wind. She had heard the dreadful tales of a wolf this size of a horse, riding into battle and tearing the throats out of men with one bite. Truthfully, Myrcella had never believed the tales until she looked upon the direwolf himself. It had been only a morning after her arrival, and she had been wandering through the halls, her curiosity driving her sense of adventure, when she had stumbled upon the stables. There, she found the very beastly direwolf. At first, fear froze her bones, enabling her from even fleeing. She could only stare as the enormous creature sauntered over to her, it's coat bearing a mix of deep grey and white, while it's bright yellow eyes seemed to bore into hers. Holding herself as still as possible, Myrcella hardly even breathed. Finally, the direwolf stopped its movements only half a foot away from the stock-still princess. He made no attempt to attack her, not even to growl. Instead he looked up to her expectantly, letting out a little whine. Myrcella felt her fear slowly subsiding as she hesitantly reached a hand out for the direwolf to sniff. He snuffled his nose against the small of her hand before licking along the inside of her arm down to the tips of her fingers. Myrcella felt joy bubbling up in her heart before emitting unstoppable giggles. She then took to petting Grey Wind, running her hands through his soft fur coat. 

"Hm, you're not such a big, bad beast after all," Myrcella cooed, reaching behind Grey Wind's ear to scratch it. To this, Grey Wind rubbed his head against Myrcella's side in thanks. 

From then on, Grey Wind had become Myrcella's most cherished friend. She made sure to sneak him a few extra treats whenever she could and he would, in return, follow her around on her explorations through the walls of Winterfell. Whenever he wasn't at the King's side, that is. _If only Robb took a liking to me as Grey Wind had_ , Myrcella found herself desperately wishing. Through her only short time at Winterfell, Robb had only ever regarded her with stoic politeness. It's not that he was cruel to her, but she sensed he could barely stand to be in her presence. If Myrcella was being honest to herself, she would admit that it hurt more than it should. When Grey Wind wasn't around, Myrcella was left to the chill of loneliness. It was even more shiver-inducing than the northern winds. She had found little friends in the North. For, Lady Catelyn regarded her with the same tensities as her eldest son and Myrcella had hardly even glimpsed the other Stark sons save at dinner. She remembers Bran being a good friend to her and Tommen at their very first visit to Winterfell, but she was no fool to expect the same from him now. If the rumors were true, if Myrcella's family really had been the cause for what had befallen Bran, then she entirely understood all the Starks distain towards her. She was a Lannister, golden-haired and green-eyed. Her family had brought so much pain upon theirs that she could not fault the Starks. It was Sansa and Rickon who showed her the warmest pleasantries. Myrcella was forever grateful to Sansa's unwavering kindness, but she understood when Sansa spent the majority of her time with her mother and other siblings and very little with Myrcella herself. No, Myrcella would never dare impose herself upon Sansa's reconciliation with her family and so, Myrcella did not let it upset her. As for the littlest Stark, Rickon, he was just a child and did not bare the same coldness for Myrcella as the others did. Sometimes he would play with her in the snow when all the other Stark children were away and they would giggle as they threw snowballs to and fro, but those were rare times. It was only Uncle Tyrion who would absolve her loneliness for a while. Whenever he was free, he would take her walking through the glass gardens or would accompany her in her solar as she stitched. But these, as with Rickon, were very rare times as Uncle Tyrion was always off visiting the brothels in town or speaking with the King on important matters. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Myrcella to escape her crushing loneliness. That is why, when a letter finally came for her she could hardly contain her joy. 

She ripped open the seal, expecting kind words from her littlest brother or eldest Uncle, but she found none of the sort. In the little piece of parchment, Myrcella discovered the ruthless words of King Joffrey Baratheon. Never had her heart felt more desolate. He was mocking her, calling her a number of names, all along the lines of a wolf's whore or cunt of the north. He wrote of how he planned to raise his armies against the North and lay waste to the new kingdom, but not before he let 'the king pretender violate her', making her unworthy for another match. In King's Landing, Myrcella would only brush off her older brother's words and seek out Tommen's kind company. But in the North, Myrcella had no one to find solace in. She was completely and utterly alone as she sat reading Joffrey's letter that caused tears to spark in her eyes. It crushed her. It felt as though Joffrey was standing directly in front of her, spitting his vile words. She had not escaped him, not truly and it was that thought that sent her running from her solar and through the many halls of the castle. She didn't stop till she was out in the cold air, gasping from her excursions. Her feet had carried her all the way to secluded calm of the Godswood and it was the first time she had ever really seen one. She had heard of it from her Septa, but the beauty of it had been gravely understated. The Weirwood tree stretched out its branches, its leaves spreading like a canopy over Myrcella, as the ominous face carved into its trunk caused a shiver to run down Myrcella's spine. It was quiet here, enough that Myrcella felt safe to sink into the ground and weep as though she had never done before, sobs shaking her entire body. There was no one, no one at all to come and offer comfort. Not little Tommen, not Uncle Jaime, not even Uncle Tyrion. It was only her, alone in the North where the men referred to her as the Kingslayer's bastard when they believed her out of earshot. They all hated her, every last one of them. And Joffrey's vicious letter was only the last drop that caused the basin to tumble over and for all her tears to come spilling out. 

It shocked her so when a rustling came from behind the trees. Her sob caught in her throat as she wildly surveyed her surroundings, trying to detect the cause of the noise. It took only seconds for the perpetrator to reveal himself causing Myrcella to let out a sigh of relief. "Grey Wind," She whispered. He must have followed her and in her tear-riddled haze, she hadn't noticed. She welcomed him with outstretched arms as her padded over to her in the snow. He licked her tear-stained face as she wrapped her arms around his large body before nuzzling her head in his fur. When she cried now, it was not the gasping sobs from only seconds ago, but only silent tears that leaked down her face as they were absorbed by Grey Wind's fur. The direwolf was patient and allowed her to cry as long as she pleased. He never once pulled away and Myrcella found herself infinitely grateful to him. _I'll have to sneak him even more treats than usual tonight_ , she thought. 

"Myrcella?" The voice startled both her and Grey Wind and she found herself scrambling to compose herself as she stood up. She relaxed, however, once she saw it was only Sansa who had found her in the Godswood. "Is everything alright?"

Myrcella did her best to hide her suffocating sadness and gave Sansa the brightest smile she could muster. "Yes, everything is fine. I only came to admire the Godswood and Grey Wind followed me," She lied, hiding Joffrey's letter, still clenched in her fist, behind her back. 

Sansa looked from Myrcella to the large direwolf beside her, gazing upon him with twinkling eyes. It had not escaped Myrcella's notice how Sansa's happiness was more forthcoming than before. Her entire demeanor had changed. No longer had she to fear for her own life, finally safe within the walls of her home. It was not hard to see how Sansa's smiles were no longer forced, how her muscles were no longer tightened, as if preparing for a blow. It made Myrcella happier than words to see. 

"He's taken quite a liking to you," Sansa observed, voice warm. She walked towards them to pet the direwolf who eagerly nuzzled into her touch, causing a smile to tug at Sansa's lips. "I see him following your ever step when he is not with Robb." 

Myrcella could only smile at Sansa's words before a fear tugged at her mind. "Oh, you don't think the King minds, does he?" She asked worriedly. Sansa quickly shook her head. "Not at all, I'm sure he's happy that Grey Wind has found someone to keep him occupied while he is attending to his duties," She swiftly countered Myrcella's worry. 

With a nod, Myrcella smiled at her soon-to-be good sister, before noticing the neatly wrapped brown package in her hands. Sansa followed her line of sight and smiled before holding it out to Myrcella. "I had gone looking for you and when I couldn't find you anywhere in the castle, I came here. I wanted to give this to you," Sansa explained. Myrcella gingerly took it in her hands, staring down at it, almost afraid to open it. Not afraid of what she might find, but afraid that she did not deserve any gift at all. Slowly, careful not to harm the contents, Myrcella unwrapped the package to reveal a heavy dress in a beautiful shade of purple; not too dark a shade, but not too light. Myrcella let out a soft gasp, "Oh, Sansa, I can not."

"I noticed most of your dresses are not fit for the North. I only wished to provide you with one that could protect you against the cold," Sansa revealed, "I did my best to guess on your measurements. I didn't wish to ask you as it would spoil the surprise."

"You made this?" Myrcella asked, disbelief alight in her voice as she skimmed her fingers along the soft fabric. Sansa nodded, her smile small and unsure. "It is beautiful, Sansa, surely I cannot thank you enough. I-I have done nothing to deserve this," She graciously spoke. Sansa shook her head at the golden-haired princess. "You showed me more than enough kindness in King's Landing, it is the least I could do to repay you," Sansa responded, "We are to be sisters after all."

Myrcella felt Joffrey's written words swirling around in her head. For as horrible as he was to his own sister, he was even worse to the sweet Northern Princess, and guilt riddled Myrcella horribly so. "I should have done more," Myrcella blurted out, "I should have done something more to stop him, to stop my mother. I'm so sorry Sansa, I am as much to blame as they are." She couldn't even bring herself too look Sansa in the eye, shame weighing heavy on her shoulders. She was just as bad as them all. Spending her days chasing kittens with Tommen, thinking she could live in blissful ignorance forever, it did her no good. It only delayed the inevitable. Only delayed the truths about her family's horrors from catching up with her. 

"You are not to blame. There was nothing you could have done," Sansa comforted, "When you offered me friendship, offered me a safe companionship when I was surrounded by danger, I cherished that more than you could ever know. You showered me with enough gifts in King's Landing, this one dress pales in comparison-" Myrcella rapidly shook her head "-I know he hurt you too," Sansa's voice was low now, "Do not think yourself the assailant when you were the one also being hurt tormented." Myrcella was deeply touched by Sansa's kind words and only wished she could reach out and hold her so they may console each other, speak the words they were never allowed in King's Landing where there were too many ears.

Instead, Myrcella found herself pulling the letter from behind her back. "He wrote to me," Myrcella stated, gesturing to the creamy piece of parchment, "I did not think . . . I believed it to be from Tommen when I first received it. I did not know . . ." Sansa only hesitated a moment before reaching out her hand. "May I?" Myrcella nodded and placed the letter in Sansa's nimble fingers. As soon as Sansa began to read it, Myrcella observed as a mask of steel hardened Sansa's features, much like the one she would wear in Joffrey's company. Was she, too, picturing the words coming from his own mouth? "Robb must see this," Sansa declared. But what would Robb do? Why would he even _care?_

"No, I do not wish to trouble him over these matters," Myrcella quickly denied, "Joffrey's words hold little meaning, he was only wishing to upset that is all."

Sansa sighed, "And in that, he has succeeded." Myrcella's eyes fell on her fumbling fingers upon Sansa's words. How had she let his letter affect her so? She was supposed to be free of him, had she forgotten? "Come, I have some embroidery to work on, do you wish to accompany me in my solar?" Sansa purposed. Myrcella brought her eyes up to Sansa's, ecstatic at the prospect of not having to spend another lonely afternoon in her own solar. "Grey Wind can come too if he desires," Sansa giggled. The direwolf had felt forgotten as the ladies had conversed, deciding to lay in the snow-covered ground, but upon the mention of his name, his ears perked up. He more than gladly bounded after them on their way back inside the castle.


End file.
